


Doubt and Pain

by CarpentryandDarkMagic



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Morningspell, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, dubcon, not sure this counts as slow burn anymore?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpentryandDarkMagic/pseuds/CarpentryandDarkMagic
Summary: Sabrina Morningstar adjusts to life as Queen Consort of Hell and being seduced by Satan.
Relationships: The Dark Lord | Satan/Sabrina Spellman
Comments: 73
Kudos: 237





	1. A Man of Wealth and Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hi, you're about to read a MorningSpell fic. It's Satan being thirsty for -- and bad to -- his daughter, who is underage. He touches her against her will and she thinks about how attracted to him she is but also explicitly does not consent to sexual touching. These are bad things that should not happen in real life. I can't believe I even need to say this, but We Live in a Society so I do. 
> 
> Dead Dove Do Not Eat. 
> 
> You have been disclaimed.

The coronation lasted what seemed like an eternity to Sabrina. Although all things considered she would probably have to adjust her expectations regarding eternity. She was actually relieved when – after several hours in heels that were literally made in Hell – the Morningstar gracefully took her hand in his and led her away from the throne room. She glanced back and caught Lilith watching them with an expression of distaste.

“We don’t need to...excuse ourselves, or –?”

Lucifer seemed amused. 

“I don’t make a habit of explaining myself to my subjects. Nor should you.”

“Aren’t there politics or something we have to worry about?”

She was barely paying attention to where they were walking. When he stopped her and framed her face in his hands the red lights in the ceiling shone through his curls like an infernal halo. 

“Sabrina, we are not royalty like you have on Earth. I am accountable to no one. You are accountable only to me.”

“That’s not how the Plague Kings made it sound.”

Trailing his fingertips down her jaw, Lucifer unclasped the ivory ruffed collar and she found herself stretching her neck gratefully. He dropped it absently to the floor.

“Without me to legitimize you they doubted your claim.”

“They didn’t feel that way about Caliban.”

She tried to ignore the way he was caressing her throat, the way his eyes were locked on her mouth.

“You are half-mortal, and untested. No one will question you at my side.”

“So it’s not because I’m a woman,” she asked, raising her chin defiantly. She almost regretted it when his gaze and his fingers dropped to the top edge of the bodice of her dress.  
“And it’s not because you’ve fostered an environment of blatant misogyny both in the Satanic Church on Earth and here in Hell? You claim you want me to rule by your side and you’ve already replaced me!”

Her anger let her speak despite the hunger plain on his face. 

“You claimed that everything I am – everything I have – you gave me. Why make me clever and strong if I’m not even going to be respected by my own subjects? Why give me the illusion of power?”

“What of your other gifts? Beauty of face and form? You don’t ask why I gave you those?”

Sabrina turned her face away the best she could.

“I know why you gave me beauty,” she said, her voice beginning to falter. “It seems that’s one thing you don’t lie about. Except I’d say it’s more a gift for you than me.”

She hated herself for trembling in his arms.

“Why lie about what brings me pleasure?”

He pressed a soft kiss to her ear and another to the side of her throat. She tried to take a step back, but he held firm. If it weren’t for her enormous skirts she was sure they’d be pressed flush against one another. 

“Wouldn’t you be more proud to have a queen who’s respected on her own merits, rather than because you demand it?”

Something about that kindled passion in him and his eyes glowed red as he finally drew her up to kiss her mouth. Her stomach dropped at the embrace, but her heart was in her throat at the same time. She put both hands against his chest to push him away but of course she didn’t have the strength. His lips were hot and surprisingly gentle on hers and when she tried to gasp for breath he filled her mouth with his tongue. 

“Please,” she moaned, one hand going to her own bound chest, “please, I can’t – I can’t breathe!”

He cupped her cheek in one hand again and reached to thrust open the double doors behind him. She’d been too distracted to notice they were at the suite where Lilith and the handmaidens had dressed her. The rooms were empty now but for the two of them as the doors slammed shut with a flick of his wrist. Sabrina made for a conveniently placed fainting couch, but he took her hand and spun her back into him. She threw her head back, desperately sucking in as much air as the stiff laced bodice would allow, her vision swimming. 

Her King made quick work of her laces. Had she been thinking clearly she would have been surprised he didn’t just rip the gown off her. He even whispered soothingly to her as he helped her out of the gilded bone cage and hooped skirts. Stripped to the gold trimmed black stays and drawers the only remaining excuse for her breathlessness was the fact that he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and was kissing her again. His other hand was loosing the ridiculous powdered wig and drawing her own platinum locks down around her face. He was so gentle with her but she let her head loll back to escape the kiss.

“Please, I just need –“

“Peace, daughter.”

“I can’t, I just can’t –“

He shushed her, mouthing softly at her bared throat again. 

“Stop, Sabrina. I don’t plan on deflowering you tonight.”

She stilled, uncertain she’d heard right. 

“I know what you thought. I take witch brides on the eve of their nuptials. I am known to find pleasure in pain. And what was this if not a wedding?”

“We can’t–“

He shook her gently but firmly by her shoulders. 

“There is nothing I cannot do. There is nothing I cannot have.”

“You’re my father,” she whispered, her stomach turning again.

“Your father is the King of Hell. A celestial being. And you may be half mortal but you have my blood in your veins.”

He bit his own lip and she saw the bead of black blood before he caught it on his thumb and pressed it to her lips. It was thick and sweet as port. 

He traced his hot fingers along the satin trimming of the stays, barely brushing the skin of her breasts. She felt as though he had taken her heart in his hand and squeezed. A tear dropped down her cheek. Both of their mouths were stained red; her lipstick and his blood. 

“You said you knew why I made you beautiful. You know what I from you, my little Queen. My consort.”

A little sob escaped her to hear him say it. 

“I could take you by force and enjoy it, but there are many ways to find pain in pleasure and pleasure in pain.”

He reached one hand down to grip the curve of her ass and drew her hips against him to let her feel the hard swell of his erection through his coat and trousers. 

“I could force you to hurt you. Or I could wait. And take you when you offer yourself. Because I will make you want me. And won’t that be its own delicious kind of pain?”

There was nothing she could say, because as he spoke in his velvety whisper he was stroking her lip with the pad of his thumb, and something not very deep within her wanted to take it into her mouth and suck it clean. More tears slid down her painted and powdered cheek. He collected one on that same thumb and tasted it with a smile. When he kissed her again the softness of his mouth made it worse. 

When the taste of his blood and her tears mixed he moaned against her and it sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t deny. He felt her shiver and gripped her tighter. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her squirm against him. She drew a long shuddering breath and burned with shame as she finally returned his kiss. 

When he felt her respond he moaned again and she responded with another little gasp into his waiting mouth. 

And that was when he pulled away from her, eyes aglow, lips flushed, curls falling across his forehead. Sabrina stared, panting openly. 

“Please–“ she whispered, and then stopped. She wasn’t sure whether she was asking him to stop or to continue.

The disappointment she felt when he took one of her hands in his and chastely kissed her knuckles was an answer she hadn’t wanted. 

“Rest, darling daughter,” he said with a wicked grin. “Tomorrow will be another day in Hell.”

She snatched her hand back and summoned up enough pride to turn away from him. She heard him chuckle and then the sound of the doors opening and closing. And locking from the outside. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, mind reeling, and thought of Sabrina Spellman. Probably sitting in the parlour with Salem curled up beside her, sharing tea with the Aunties and Ambrose. Or maybe reclining in her  
tub after a very long and strange day.

In Hell, Sabrina Morningstar sank onto a couch and wept.


	2. Some Sympathy and Some Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabrina gets a taste of authority in Hell. Lucifer's and her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continue not to eat a dead dove.

Over the next week or so, Sabrina started to wonder if the Great Deceiver was telling her the truth – at least in this. He was consistent in his attention, both in frequency and intensity. He would touch and kiss her every time they were alone. And she would allow it, but never instigate an embrace. She’d been celibate by choice until her Dark Baptism and even after when it would have been completely acceptable – almost expected – in witch culture. She could accept that he was alluring and that she was attracted to him. There was no point in denying it. But she also knew that did not want to have sex with him. 

_Not yet, at least,_ she thought with a sigh.

Something else that she knew, unfortunately, was that she needed him. 

Lucifer had included her when he’d held court a few days in a row, each of them sitting on their thrones of skulls and bones. Hell was, unsurprisingly, a place of conflict. The denizens of Pandemonium fought constantly, about everything. The Plague Kings seemed to hate each other. Each and every person with any modicum of power was constantly vying for Lucifer’s attention. 

The first time she’d executed her new authority had turned into an uncomfortable experience. Lucifer had asked her to settle a dispute between two demon lords, each of whom believed he held claim to a soul awaiting his eternal punishment. 

The number of souls assigned to each lord’s domain seemed to be a source of constant friction. It was one of the few things that directly influenced their standing in court. Outside of the Dark Lord’s favour, of course.

Lucifer made no secret of the fact that he had no patience for such pettiness. 

“Perhaps this will be the perfect outlet for your passion for justice.”

The woman stood, bound in chains, eyes empty and staring. Sabrina heard the list of her sins and crimes; violence, lies, betrayals. All against the people who loved her in life and mourned her in death. Sabrina listened carefully. 

Not long ago Sabrina had pardoned Robert Robinson. She felt he’d done nothing deserving of damnation. And she’d been equally confident in her condemnation of the foul Jimmy Platt. She found herself struggling with the idea that she was personally responsible for the particulars of the torture this woman would suffer for the rest of time. 

Sabrina deliberated for a long moment. Glancing at her father, she delivered her verdict. 

“Deborah Greene: The only constant in your life was the harm you did to those who trusted you. I sentence you to eternity in the Field of Witness.“

Greene’s eyes focussed briefly on her, but she was unfaltering.

“Where your only constant will be the birds plucking at your flesh.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she felt ill. The demon whose claim she had accepted bowed deeply and disappeared – with Greene – in a storm of fire. The other knelt before the throne to signal his acceptance of her judgment.

From the gallery, however, came a cry from one of his followers.

“Why should we recognize the authority of Satan’s child whore?”

Before he could continue Lucifer was on his feet. The legionnaire’s head jerked to one side sharply and he collapsed.

Sabrina flinched but forced herself not to look away. The crowd parted around the fresh corpse, distancing themselves from the dissent as if it could infect them. Lucifer reached for her hand and she stood.

“My daughter represents my will. Are there any more here who would disrespect me?”

The only sound was Sabrina’s breath in an otherwise silent chamber.

Lucifer waved a hand to dismiss the gathering and they streamed for the exits, speaking in hushed tones.

Admittedly Sabrina was unbothered by the sudden violence. This was Hell, after all. The people here were far from innocent. Not to mention she wasn’t entirely clear on what happened when one of the Horde was “killed”. Did demons have souls? Did they just turn into sea foam and disappear like the original bummer version of the little mermaid? 

She made a mental note to ask Lucifer or Lilith once she had gotten her feet under her. 

Lucifer turned to her and studied her face briefly. For what, she wasn’t sure. But when he announced he would accompany her to her rooms she followed without question. She spent most of her time there and he was with her more often than not. She was not getting used to it.

When they entered her apartments there was a spread of bread and fresh fruit on the little table. She did still need to eat. Lucifer appreciated the novelty and enjoyed watching her. 

“You’re unhappy, I can tell,” he said as he settled on a lounge near the fire and she helped herself to a handful of berries. “I suspected it might take some time to excise what little opposition we might encounter. They will learn to see you as an extension of me and my authority.”

“Still not quite the same as having authority of my own.”

“That will come with time. In exchange for your proven loyalty.”

She chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes.

“That didn’t feel like justice.”

“No?”

“No. It felt like revenge.”

He sat resting his head on his hand and waited for her to continue.

“Her suffering won’t do anything to relieve the pain she caused while she was alive.”

“Our purview is not to right the wrongs done to the mortals. It is to punish them for their crimes in the afterlife.”

A thought gnawed at the edge of her mind, but she was afraid to voice it. 

“Why?”

“That is the role of the Lords and Legions of Hell. To punish the guilty.”

“But...why do we consider them guilty? You said morality doesn’t apply to us. Why do we apply the False God’s morality to the souls of mortals if we don’t believe in it? Doesn’t that--”

She paused and took in the anger that twisted his beautiful face into something awful.

“Doesn’t that assume that the False God has authority over what happens in Hell?”

When his face was lit with anger like this, it was easy to remember that she was sitting opposite Satan himself. This wasn’t the quick-stoked flare that burned hot and fast, followed by a wicked grin and a sarcastic jab. Sabrina was looking at ice cold rage. The permanently wounded pride that defined and fueled his existence.

He stood and came to stand behind her. His hands rested, hot and heavy, on her shoulders. She sat very, very still. 

He caressed the side of her neck absently with one thumb, but he didn’t talk for an agonizingly long time. 

“If I ever doubted that you were my daughter, those doubts are gone. It is in your blood to question authority. It is part of who you are, as it is part of who I am.”

The tension didn’t leave her body, even as his hands remained gentle.

“This is new to you, and in your life on Earth you were often rewarded for thinking the way you do. But now you are here. I will allow this from you this once, because we are alone. But if you question me or my  
sovereignty again – in public or in private – your punishment will be immediate and absolute. Do you understand?”

Sabrina nodded. She finally swallowed the bite of strawberry that had been sitting on her tongue.

“Good.”

He sat in the other chair at her table, cradling her hand in his.

“Witches and warlocks have always accepted that their power comes from some other source; my will. That acceptance has always been marked with some measure of resentment. I was created to be powerful. More powerful than some. Less than others, if few. We are not dissimilar in this way.”

That was the closest Sabrina had heard him come to acknowledging any kind of weakness or imperfection in himself.

She had breached the subject in hopes of encouraging him to offer her a show of power. In light of this revelation, she hesitated. This might be the most vulnerable she would ever see him, and she found herself unwilling to even try to manipulate him in the moment. Instead, to her own surprise, she found herself squeezing his hand. 

_You’re getting soft, Spellman. Morningstar. Whatever. Sympathy for the Devil: Catchy song, questionable life choice._

Even as she recognized the weakness of it, she was willing to make a momentary concession to human emotion. She wasn’t sure she one hundred percent believed that he would destroy her if she should cross him again, but she fully believed that he could do a lot to make her life a living Hell. In the more metaphorical sense. 

After all she had all the time in the world and more. 

All the time there would ever be.

The tension eased quickly after their uncomfortable moment and they went back to something like a routine.

In the rooms that were apparently to remain hers she’d found clothes a little more reasonable than her coronation gowns in a wardrobe next to the expansive bed. Mostly silk and velvet dresses, which she was quickly coming to love. The fit of the dresses tended toward daring. Short in the skirt or low in the neck. She found she didn’t entirely mind. She was happy with her body and no one seemed to judge her. 

For comfort she had conjured up several pairs of trousers in blacks and tartans. She felt more herself in pants but Lucifer was always free with his compliments when she wore the dresses. To her disappointment Pandemonium was too warm for the cardigans she was so fond of. 

She’d even experimented with some dramatic cosmetics for fun the first few days, but without anyone to insist she “wasn’t leaving the house like that” some of the fun was lost. She mostly stuck to a red or dark lip colour and mascara, as she had on Earth.

She’d known going into this that her life was going to change in a big way. It was something unexpected that presented the first real problem. 

Hell was lonely. And not only that. It was boring. 

She missed her family, her familiar, her friends. Even her classmates. Even her _classes_. 

Finally, she decided there were two things she was prepared to ask for. Two things she wanted badly enough that she was willing to risk whatever Lucifer might demand in return.

Within reason.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” she said slowly over a plateful of fruit one morning, “you’ve already given me so much...”

Lucifer was lounging nearby in an armchair in front of the hearth. He enjoyed watching her eat.

“I expected you might need things I hadn’t anticipated, of course. What can I do to please you, Sabrina?”

She ignored his always-wolfish expression. 

“Books. I can conjure books I’d like to read,” she gestured to the growing pile next to her bed, “but I can’t ask for things I don’t know exist. Does the city have a library I could visit?”

“The palace, in fact. I can show you as soon as you’d like.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sincere smile. “I would love that.”

She somewhat resented how endearing she found the smile that lit his face at her excitement. It raised her hopes for her next request.

“There’s something else that I want that I’m not sure I can find in Hell, let alone Pandemonium or the palace.”

He raised his eyebrow and his voice was dangerously low.

“I do enjoy a challenge. Enlighten me.”

“Friends.”

His eyes narrowed and she launched into her explanation.

“I’m not asking to leave. It’s just...it’s lonely here. The only person who talks to me and isn’t absolutely revolting is you. The closest thing I have to a friend here is _Lilith_ and she hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

He studied her from his seat by the fire and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I take your point. What exactly _are_ you asking for?”

“I want a way to contact someone on Earth. My cousin Ambrose.”

He actually laughed out loud at that.

“The Vatican bomber who killed your Anti-Pope?”

“No. He never carried out his plan in Rome, and you would have loved it if he had, anyway. And what happened to the Anti-Pope was never proven. At best he was framed. Probably by Father Blackwood – who tried to _kill_ me, by the way.”

Lucifer stood and walked over next to her. He picked up a piece of melon and held it to her lips. She held his gaze as she accepted the morsel and let him brush her lip with his thumb as she chewed. 

“Well said, little darling. Let me consider it while I show you your library.”

He held out a hand to her and pulled her gently from her chair. As she stood his drew her close and leaned to kiss the side of her neck, one of his favourite caresses. His body was febrile as always and she hoped he couldn’t hear the speed of her heartbeat, but the smile on his face told her she hoped in vain. 

She’d never admit it, but as they walked arm in arm through the palace the idea of “her library” had conjured up a fairy tale image. The Beast’s castle, ladders on wheels, grand staircases, elaborate chandeliers.

She’d never admit it, but she wasn’t disappointed.

The library was larger than the throne room. She stood, rapt, with a hand covering her mouth as she stared.

“I see it pleases you, daughter.”

His voice was warm, but she knew he expected praise. She was all to happy to give it. 

“Lucifer, it’s...you don’t need me to tell you it’s incredible,” she said softly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She craned her neck, trying to see how far back the stacks reached. The walls, ceiling and floor were rough stone but the carpets were lavish, the walls were covered in enormous tapestries and peppered with brazen lights. There was indeed an elaborate chandelier. She’d never seen so many books in one place. She doubt a collection like this existed anywhere on Earth.

She was so overcome that when she turned back to him and saw naked lust on his face it couldn’t dull her excitement.

"Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. Do you think I’ll live long enough to read them all? Can I move my bed here? I never want to leave.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, fingering a blonde curl next to her ear. “A compromise had just occurred to me regarding your second request. Unless you think this might be enough to keep you happy.”

Sabrina chewed her lip. The library was breathtaking but she knew it wasn’t enough. She gave him her full attention.

“What are you proposing?”

“I will arrange a way for you to communicate with your cousin whenever you like in your free time. In exchange,” he put his hands on her hips, stroking with both thumbs, “I want you to spend your nights with me from now on.”

Her heart sank. She fought to keep the horror from her face, tried to back away but he held firm. 

“You said you were going to wait.”

“I said I was going to make you want me.”

“That’s not fair--”

“I never said I was going to play fair, but I also haven’t said I’m going to fuck you.”

She grimaced at the word.

“Yet. I want you to come to me. And I want you to sleep in my bed because you are my Queen.”

“You made it sound like you wanted my consent,” she argued, pushing at his chest.

His grip on her tightened, almost painful, and she gasped.

“You will not condescend to me, child. Remember your place.”

He paused to collect himself.

“You’ve made a request and I’ve agreed, with a condition.”

“So much for free will,” she said venomously.

“I insist on my own freedom. You are free to decline. Or accept.”

“As free as I’ve ever been in my life. Why should I trust you? What’s to stop you from raping me?”

He shoved her away and she came up hard against the end of one bookcase. He crowded into her space, held her with one hand on her chest just below her throat and hissed into her face.

“ _Nothing._ What is there to stop me right now? _Nothing._ What stopped me yesterday and every day since you signed my Book? I’m playing this game with you because it pleases me. Hurting you physically doesn’t interest me right now. What I want is to seduce you. It’s what you were made for. It’s what _I_ made you for.”

Stuck in Hell between a rock and a hard… place.

“I want my communication with Ambrose free and unmonitored.”

He smiled.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I want to keep my old rooms. I have to have time by myself sometimes, please.”

“Fine.”

She looked away from him. 

“You obviously sleep naked. I don’t and I _won’t_ in your bed.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He straightened and as usual she was reminded how much bigger he was than her. And, with his tailed coat open to the waist, she was face to face with the inescapable perfection of his body. She resolutely looked past him at the never-ending supply of beautiful books. 

“You will be excused from court. To spend the rest of the day here. If only to assuage your anger.”

She glanced up at him coldly.

“Forgiving you doesn’t interest me right now.”

“Mmmm,” he rumbled. “Another challenge to…. rise to. I am so pleased you’ve joined us here in Pandemonium, daughter.”

She stayed perfectly still as he leaned down to kiss her. She hated that he would sometimes kiss her tenderly, as if they were lovers, and he did it now. As if she wasn’t a prisoner. As if he loved her. 

One time she’d been so caught up in it that she’d kissed him back, as if she felt something for him, too. Not so now. He folded his arms around her and kept kissing her frowning mouth, but shortly he broke off and chuckled as he realised she wouldn’t soften to him. 

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Of course she lingered in the library until she was dozing off in her chair. She jolted awake when she dropped the first edition of The Handmaid’s Tale into her lap and decided it was time to take her medicine. The longer she put him off the more irritated he’d be. 

She brought the book along, to send a message. 

When she got to his doors and he summoned her inside she forced herself to cross the threshold without hesitation, head held high, like the queen she was. Apparently preparing to earn her crown. 

His rooms were huge. More red and black and gold, like most of the palace. Beautiful but maybe too lavish to be elegant. She looked everywhere but the bed. Where he was. Lying there and watching her avoiding him. She assumed he was wearing a smug smile. 

“I hope you find it to your liking?”

“Would it matter if I didn’t?”

“Is there something missing?”

She glanced over and was relieved to see he was wearing a pair of black silk lounge pants. No shirt, of course, but she couldn’t recall ever having seen him in one before anyway. She’d been right about the smile. Then she realised.

“Oh...I need to go back and get pajamas.”

“The wardrobe on that wall is yours. It’s been here since your first night in the palace.”

“Presumptuous,” she declared.

“Prepared.”

“You’re a regular Boy Scout.”

“I want you to feel welcome.”

She walked to the cabinet and opened it, pulling out a red satin slip trimmed in black lace. Nice lace, too, not the itchy synthetic kind.

“Welcome but not warm, apparently.”

He slid off the edge of the bed and stalked toward her, spinning her to face the mirror on the inside of the door. He held the flimsy garment up against her body.

“I’ll be more than happy to keep you warm, Sabrina.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Alright, I walked right into that one, I admit it.”

His laugh was genuine and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. 

“I like you in red,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek. 

“And in black. And gold. And blue, and green, and orange...”

“I never wear orange.”

“Put it on,” he purred into her skin. “Let me see you.”

He kissed his way to her jaw, then down her neck and along her collarbone. She felt like Morticia Addams. He actually was making her quite warm. The chemise might be a relief. 

“If you watch me change I might as well not wear it at all. We agreed,” she pleaded.

He grazed his teeth along the edge of her shoulder with a sigh and turned away. 

She changed in a rush and put her clothes away neatly on shelves of the wardrobe. When she was done she looked at herself in the mirror. She crossed her arms over her chest as he looked back over his shoulder at her. 

“Ugh! I didn’t say you could look!”

But he was already turning, taking her in his arms and staring at her in the mirror’s reflection. Goosebumps raised under his fingers as he drew her arms down gently to her side before caressing the flat of her belly through the skin-warmed fabric. 

She put her hands over his, hoping to hold them in place but one was already gliding down to her thigh where there was a generous slit in the skirt, revealing the band of her stocking and the tiny swell at the edge where it gripped her flesh. His other hand was barely grazing the underside of her breast and she felt the now familiar shape of his cock pressed against her back. Even through both their clothes little was left to her imagination and she shivered.

She was there in the reflection, but if she focused on him it was like watching this happen to someone else. Closing her eyes she let her head rest back against his chest and briefly lost herself in sensation.

“Good girl,” he whispered before finally cupping her breast in one hot hand.

“Oh.”

It was the first time he’d touched her like that, but instead of breaking the spell it made her squirm in his arms. She put the lightest pressure against his hand and he squeezed her gently but insistently, brushing his palm against the stiffness of her nipple. 

When she moaned he used his other hand to turn her toward him, lifting her easily until she could wrap her legs around his waist. He kissed her deeply and kneaded her ass, crushing their hips together. She hadn’t realised how affecting it would be to have his cock pressing against the flimsy fabric of her panties and moaned loudly. He walked them backward to the bed. He settled on the edge so he could cradle her in his lap. Engulfed in his arms, with his mouth so soft and hot, she got her knees under her and ground against him. 

She was immediately over-stimulated and had to pull her face away to breathe. He lowered his head and caught her nipple – silk and all – in his mouth. 

“Too much, oh Heaven, too much!”

Gently, gently, he closed his teeth against around that little bit of flesh and she cried out wordlessly. She could feel how wet she was against the ridge of his cock and didn’t know if he could feel it. She raised up to break contact but when she did she pulled her nipple between his teeth and was overwhelmed.

“Please, please stop!” She whimpered as the tension of orgasm tightened her belly. 

She scooted farther back in his lap and looked down to see a tiny patch of wetness on his pants. He didn’t force her back against him, did nothing to push her over the edge. He barely moved at all except to reach both hands into her hair and untie the ribbon that held it away from her face and drag his fingers through her curls. His expression was softly pained and she couldn’t stand it. She leaned back in and kissed him, without knowing why.

That was a little lie she told herself. She was kissing him because he was beautiful and because he smelled incredible and because he wanted her and told her not to be ashamed that she wanted him, too. And because if she didn’t think about it too hard, no one here cared that she wanted him.

Kissing him and wanting him made sense here. And she could fight it the way she fought so many things but this wasn’t a fight she would win. And she found that fighting this felt nothing but miserable. She was ready to stop fighting for once. Just for now.

He didn’t push for anything more, so she kept kissing him, softly and slowly, just because he felt so good. When he did move, it was to drag them both backward, toward the pillows at the head of the bed. He didn’t climb on top of her, instead letting them both rest on their sides. She let one arm wrap around his waist and he stroked her hip. When she finally stopped kissing him it was because she had curled up against his chest and fallen asleep, lulled by the unnaturally slow muffled rush of his heartbeat.


	3. The Nature of My Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabrina gets something she wants, and one thing she doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same general warnings. Do as I say, not as I write, I guess.

Sabrina wished she was in a state where she could appreciate the look on Ambrose’s face.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s weird for you but I’m losing my mind down here.”

“I can’t decide what to ask you first.”

Of course, he was Ambrose, so the first things he’d asked had been:

“Are you all right?”

And:

“Has he hurt you?”

After she’d assured him of her safety – and warned him Lucifer was listening – she was just about ready to beg him for news of Greendale. Sadly there didn’t seem to be much to tell.

“Zelda is thriving, of course. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her, between Marie and the Order of Hecate.”

“Marie?”

Ambrose gave her a significant look, with a significantly raised eyebrow.

“Oh! Oh, Marie! Ok! That’s great,” she sputtered.

And then, after a very brief moment of consideration…

“Get it, Aunt Zelda!”

They shared a genuine laugh that left her feeling lighter.

“And of course when Zelda’s happy, Hilda’s happy. Also she didn’t eat her boyfriend. That helped _a lot_.”

“What about _you_ , Ambrose?”

His mouth worked silently and she frowned. Finally he threw both hands up in the air.

“I’m...taking it day by day. A year ago I couldn’t have imagined missing Prudence Blackwood, but--”

“She left?”

“After they found Dorcas. Agatha...Agatha killed her.”

“Oh Ambrose, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and fidgeted.

“Can’t win them all.”

For a man who’d been enjoying his youth for the better part of a century, he looked downright haggard. Sabrina remembered the Ambrose she’d met in that other time, all alone at the end of the world.

“You should see the library, Ambrose. It’s incredible.”

A dim light shone in his sad eyes.

“I wish--” she glanced beyond the portal, “I wish I could show you...”

From his chaise by the fire, Lucifer shook his head slowly.

“But I’m sure if there were something you wanted, I could look for it? Maybe take some notes?”

He shrugged non noncommittally at that, which she recognized as the best she would get.

Ambrose seemed to be scrambling for a pencil and paper.

“Can I make you a list?”

She smiled and nodded.

“I’ll get you whatever I can. How –“

She desperately wanted to ask how the _other_ Sabrina was doing. And Ros and Harvey, and Theo and Robin, and Miss Wardwell. Even Nick. Anything that might feel normal. But she honestly didn’t know exactly _what_ Lucifer knew about her little duplicating trick, and any little scrap of information she had that he didn’t tasted like power over him.

“I miss you.”

He smiled again, a little too sadly, and she felt her throat tighten. As much as she'd wanted this, suddenly she needed it to be over.

“Same time next week,” she asked with a brightness she didn't feel.

“I’ll see you then, coz.”

As soon as his image faded from the mirror, her smile went with it.

“I’ll want to look over that list of his.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Obviously.”

“You don’t seem cheered. Wasn’t that the point of this whole exercise?”

“I know you don’t feel human emotion, but surely on some level you can understand that I miss them and not being able to be with them makes me sad.”

“Why not bring your familiar? Would he not be a great comfort to you?”

It was all she could do not to burst into tears. She cleared her throat and hoped he didn’t notice.

“Forgive me, but...Salem hates you. And I’m not sure Hell is the perfect place for a cat.”

“It’s warm, they seem to like that,” he said dryly.

It would have been far stranger for Sabrina Spellman – the half mortal witch – to be without her familiar than Sabrina Morningstar. She wouldn’t explain to him just yet. She planned to earn more of his trust before she let him in on her secret. She did have a plan for the eventuality that he might discover it before she was ready. She’d do just about anything to keep that from happening, but she had it in her mind.

He might as well have been a cat, she thought, watching him stretch. He always seemed to be seeking out more and more warmth. Another, quieter – but never quiet enough – part of her mind also considered the prickly rough surface of his tongue. She indulged them both by letting her gaze linger on the golden skin of his chest, exposed as usual by his crimson robe. It would have been an almost formal garment but for his aversion to shirts. She cleared her throat awkwardly when he bit his lip, smiling to see her looking at him.

“Come here.”

He patted one broad thigh. She obeyed, settling herself sideways on his lap rather than straddling him.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

She cocked her head to one side.

“You want gratitude?”

“Of course I do. I want everything.”

Her cheeks flushed hot, but she inclined her chin proudly.

“I don’t see why, we made a deal. As far as I know we both got something out of it.”

He brushed her chin with his thumb and she found herself licking her lips as he stared at her mouth. He did that a lot. She hated the way it made her voice waver when she tried to speak.

“And I have a lot more at stake here.”

“Do they not teach you manners on the mortal plane? Surely a simple thank you isn’t too much to ask?”

“So is it too much to ask for from you? I did something for you, as well.”

He smiled that patronizing little smile, then lifted her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you for joining me last night, Sabrina.”

Heaven. She hadn’t anticipating enjoying that so much. He took pleasure in saying her name, apparently, and she’d begun to look forward to the way he said it. She tried not to let it show.

“I am grateful,” she admitted. “For Ambrose, and for the books. Thank you.”

“Thank you…?”

She frowned. There was something else he wanted her to say.

“Thank you...Dark Lord?”

“You really don’t remember? I told you once before. What I want you to call me...”

Her stomach did a flip the Ravenettes would have screamed for. She played dumb.

“Thank you, Father?”

“I know you know what I want.”

“Everything, apparently.”

“But this you can give me. Only you, for the moment.”

It still felt so wrong. She was torn down the middle. No one knew, and those who might have assumed didn’t care. She told herself that again and again, even as the words dropped from her lips in a whisper.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He sighed and caught one hand in her hair, pulling her close for a kiss. She tried to squirm away from his growing erection, physically and mentally. She tried to push her thoughts away from the heat of his skin and his tightly muscled body and how much pleasure his kisses brought her, burning between her thighs just as her cheeks burned with shame. She hated that she knew how that affected him.

“You’re so welcome, my little darling.”

And she hated that she was coming to love hearing him call her pet names. And watching his breathing quicken as he touched her, and feeling her own mirror it. And the way her pulse raced as he slid his strange tongue against hers. She put her hands on his shoulders lightly, wondering how far he would go this time – how far _she_ would go – as she let them slide down the front of his body. She liked the way the way his stomach twitched when she caressed the line at the center of the muscles there. This time she was bold enough to swing one thigh over the other side of his lap and he purred hungrily when she settled their hips together.  
She was thinking of last night when she’d been _so close_. She’d felt a weight at her center all day; that unresolved tension. Squeezing her thighs together she already felt wet and tender and she didn’t know if she was ready for him to touch her, but she knew she wanted _something_.

Last night his arms had been around her back, pressing her into his kisses. Now his hands were on her hips, guiding her to slide against the length of his cock. She gasped against his lips and when she kissed him again she could feel him smiling. She was almost overwhelmed again, but grinding against him slowly was just right, especially when he mouthed down to her throat, and she knew she wouldn’t stop this time. When she pressed down harder he squeezed her ass and pushed his hips up against her and she moaned without caring that he would hear her and know what she was feeling.

That moan broke at the end – “yes, yes, yes...” – and she rested her forehead against his bare shoulder, riding him as she shivered and shook through her climax. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her breasts again, and before she was back in her right mind, before the shame rolled in, she wriggled out of the straps of her dress and let it fall to her waist. He obliged with another breathy sigh, a hand on one breast and his mouth wide and wet on the other. The sensations dragged out the waves of her orgasm but instead of pulling away she was arching against him.

His teeth found her again and she cried out, jumping a little. He laughed, licked the bite mark he’d left on the curve of her breast and then leaned up to kiss her mouth again.

And then there was a sharp knock on her door. She pulled back and saw the anger flash in his eyes just for a second. The muscles in his jaw twitched but he stayed quiet as she hesitated.

“Should I –?”

She watched him trying to keep his calm, pushing one hand back through his hair. And then the anger seemed to fade into frustration. He shrugged.

“Uh...Just a minute!”

She wasn’t sure what to do. They were both breathing heavily while she squirmed back into the top half of her dress. She could feel herself blushing and realised she was sweaty.

* _Does Lucifer sweat?_ FOCUS, _Sabrina!_ *

She climbed out of his lap, finger-combed her hair and gave her head a shake. When she glanced back at him he had that bemused smile as he watched her steady herself. She remembered the many casual embraces she’d caught witches and warlocks in and assumed he wasn’t used to seeing someone flustered when caught _in flagrante_.

When she pulled her door open with shaky hands, she was further mortified to see Lilith standing on her threshold.

“Lilith,” Satan growled from his seat, “I hope this is _extremely_ important.”

Sabrina saw the recognition in her eyes instantly and pressed her flushed lips together while she tried to look put together. She couldn’t imagine getting used to this feeling any time soon.

Lilith cupped one hand over her lower belly – a habit she’d developed that made Sabrina want to roll her eyes in a very un-queenly fashion – and gestured openly at Sabrina with the other.

“I am sorry to have… interrupted. It’s really not particularly _important_. Just a gift for my young Queen. A sign of my loyalty.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe that for a minute.

Lilith had helped her, the day of her coronation. Reminded her of her newfound power. Advised her in a way that seemed genuine, even in retrospect. But Sabrina had no delusions that Lilith would be an ally. Not when she was carrying the Dark Lord’s child. A half-demon, half-Celestial _male_ child, who would apparently usurp her throne the instant he was born.

That was what Sabrina thought. What she said was:

“Lilith, what a wonderful gesture.”

Lucifer approached them in a cloud of ill-will and curiosity.

“Indeed, how very appropriate, despite the timing.”

“Well, I know you have been trying to acclimate to your new kingdom, surrounded by strangers, and I thought you might appreciate a companion.”

Dread climbed Sabrina’s spine and clawed at the back of her mind.

_She wouldn’t..._

But of course she would, and had.

Lilith summoned a cyclone of flames and when it dissipated, in its place was Caliban, sinking to one knee before them. When he looked up, tossing blond curls from his eyes, he was grinning at her.

_Heaven._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabrina tests some of her limits.

Sabrina was livid.

Between Lilith’s power play and Lucifer’s bemused detachment, she was having trouble containing herself.

“I’m not sure why you’re so offended,” Lucifer said, catching her around the waist as she paced. “You won the competition, the hordes...mostly support your claim. And you’re with me. Soon there will be no more challenges. No more questions.”

Fuming, she spun into him.

“And you don't care at all that your ex consort brought him back here? Did you know he was trying to convince me to marry him?”

He arched a brow.

“He thought we would rule Hell together. He wanted...” she stopped herself and looked away.

He stroked up and down her back.

“He wanted what I want?”

“He’s an outrageous flirt. It's disrespectful to both of us. AND he cheated in that competition! He would have stolen the throne and released the hordes on Earth! And he didn’t even–“

She froze. She had almost complained that he couldn’t even keep the throne. That he’d lost the battle against the pagans and the Green Man. He’d gone to the trouble of betraying her, trapping the Morningstars in the depths of Hell, and he’d still failed. He wasn’t worthy of the crown. _She was._ She'd proven it across two timelines. But she couldn't tell him that.

Sensing her hesitation, he tipped her chin up to look her in the eye.

“He propositioned me. It was vulgar. He didn’t even pretend otherwise. I. Don’t. Trust him.”

“Trust is hard to find here, I’m afraid, my beauty. And it's hard to be angry at him for trying to betray you while you were betraying me.”

She tried to pull away, to continue her circuit of the room, but he wouldn't let her go. He hadn’t stopped touching her since they’d sent Lilith and Caliban away.

She was still shaken after the interruption and the fact that they’d both seen her like that, and they’d both known instantly. Aunt Hilda's book would have called her _debauched_. She still felt flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. She could feel the place on her breast where he’d bitten her. She was ashamed of how good it felt. Physically, and in the knowledge that he’d marked her. She’d never felt like that before. She wanted to leave her mark on him in return. Suddenly she had a dim understanding of high school boys who left hickeys on a girl's neck.

Besides that, she was still keenly aware of how wet she was under her dress. She was sticky at the tops of her thighs, and she felt not quite satisfied. She was desperate to touch herself (or to have him touch her), and she knew he could tell. When he held her close, she found herself wiggling her hips against him. He kissed her and she clung to him.

“Sabrina, if you want something, ask for it.“

She frowned.

“Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’d like to think of it the other way around. They distracted us. _I'm_ trying to get you to focus again. Ask me for what you want.”

When he kissed her again, holding her to him by the back of her head and her hip, she was dangerously close. Her hands were on the back of his head, twisting in his hair. But she couldn’t hold him in place when he leaned his face away. He slid the straps of her dress down and covered her bare breast with one hand. She pushed into him.

“Do you want Caliban punished? If that’s what you want, you can have it, easily. Or do you want this?”

He squeezed her breast and sent his other hand down to her ass. She didn’t speak. She tried to answer by reaching up for another kiss, but he held her in place.

“You want more?”

He was smiling.

She bit her lip. Still fighting it, when she’d told herself she wouldn’t. That she didn’t have to. And that if she indulged herself she really would get everything she wanted. She knew this was the way. She would have everything. It was her destiny, just like the rest of it. She was the Herald. She was the Queen.

She’d _won_ her throne, and she’d be damned if she would give it up. She _was_ ready to be married to Hell.

“Say it, Sabrina.”

She craned up against him, trying to reach his mouth, but he held her back.

“Yes,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Yes?”

Not such a big concession, really. Her voice came out in a whimper.

“Yes, Daddy.”

She squeaked when he lifted her up and tossed her onto the bed. He arched down to kiss her briefly, and then spread her thighs apart. When he reached between them they could both feel how wet she was. How she’d soaked through her panties. She threw her head back. He stroked along her crease through the fabric as best he could and she squirmed under his fingers. Then he hooked a finger in the waistband and yanked them down. He pulled roughly until they were past her knees and she kicked them away carelessly. He looked into her eyes as he lifted the hem of her skirt up to her waist.

But instead of touching her, he walked over to the chair by the fire, dragged it back, and set it down next to the bed. He dropped into it heavily.

“Show me.”

She stared at him, slack-jawed.

“But–“

“Show me what you want.”

Her brain was short circuiting. She wanted everything. Since he'd shown her it was apparently an option. And he was the key to her having it.

She dropped her gaze, looked away. How much was her putting on a show for him and how much was leftover...Spellman. She was quickly losing track. So she reached down and touched herself tentatively, just the tip of her middle finger. Barely close enough to get wet. Barely brushing her clit. Just touching where it was too sensitive. Next she ran two fingers along either side, pressing harder, where she knew felt almost just as good. She was already so wet her fingers made obscene little noises. She glanced at him again to see his chest heaving. His hands were set firmly on his thighs. When she slid her hand flat and slow along her whole pussy she saw his knuckles go pale.

She didn’t want to watch his face anymore. She lay flat on her back, her hips just at the edge of the bed with her legs spilling over, feet hanging above the ground. And she touched herself the way she’d been thinking of all day.

It was as much for him as it was for her, but she’d forget about that. Really everything that was for him was about her anyway, she’d decided.

She alternated between her palm, flat and slow and teasing on herself, one finger drawing circles on her clit, and finally – one finger sliding inside her. With her other hand she squeezed her own breasts, especially the one with the faint, mouth-shaped bruise. She heard him let out a tiny sigh when he saw that, and she squeezed harder.

When her fingers were coated in her own slick she started to thrust two into herself shallowly. She knew she didn’t need to go deep. The most nerves were right at her entrance, and that’s where she worked. After a few moments she used her other hand on her clit and felt the tightness building at the bottom of her belly. She licked her lips. Even the stimulation from her own tongue pushed her further.

“Ask for what you want,” he said again.

“I want….”

She hesitated. She played coy. She wanted to come. Instead she sighed loudly as her fingers pushed in and out of her.

“Please,” she moaned.

She heard him breathing hard, but he didn’t say anything else. She sat up, lip caught between her teeth.

“Will you kiss me?”

He surged out of his chair and covered her with his body, forcing her onto her back, engulfing her mouth with his. She pulled her fingers out of herself and tangled them in his hair again. With her other fingers still on her clit she came and moaned loudly into his mouth, writhing underneath him. She raised her knees to cage him in. He kept kissing her and she kept touching herself until she was coming again. She couldn’t keep still, twisting her hips as best she could underneath him. 

He was still dressed, and she thought she knew the game by now.

“I want your hand,” she gasped. "Your fingers."

He growled and thrust one hand down along her cunt, two fingers inside her right away, and she was ready for it. He rubbed the heel of his palm against her clit as he thrust his fingers in her and she couldn’t catch her breath. And then she was coming again, that deep, long clenching inside that finally satisfied her and she was crying out wordlessly.

She started to come down when he pulled his fingers free of her. At first he put that hand on the bed to hold his weight, but she grabbed his wrist and guided his fingers up toward her mouth. She watched the fire in his eyes as she licked them clean, leaving the faintest hint of red lipstick at his knuckles.

“Say it, Sabrina,” this time he was whispering it as he kissed her ear and the side of her neck.

“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around him, reaching down for the tight curve of his ass for the first time, and he thrust his hips against her. She let her head fall back against the bed.

“Thank you for making me come, Daddy,” she murmured as he licked and mouthed at her throat.

He bit down and she gasped, drawing him back up to her mouth. She wasn’t sure if the time was right, but he kept kissing her with the same heat.

His hands roved all up and down her body and she wiggled under him. She put one of her hands on the side of his face and once she had his attention, she was gliding the other down his belly, tickling at the edges of his ridiculous robe, and lower past his waist. His eyes slid shut when she brushed her fingertips along the bulge of his cock. He went still for an instant.

Then he took her wrist in one hand and pinned it back to the bed. She bit his lip and pulled. Frustrated. She reached with her other hand, and squeezed him, before he pinned that one, too.

“What–?”

He silenced her with another kiss, but she turned her face away.

“I want you.”

She meant it to sound breathy and seductive but it came out impatient and childish.

He laughed and kissed her again.

“You have me. Just not like that. Not right now.”

She struggled to pull her hands free. He held her down. Angry tears pricked at her eyes.

“You said you were going to make me want you. I do. Why–?”

“Because it pleases me to make you wait.”

She thrashed her legs underneath him, and he laughed.

“This, as much as you want. For more, you’ll wait.”

She scowled at him and went still, but he just kissed his way down to her breast.

“Through playing if you’re not going to win?” He pulled her nipple into his mouth.

She tried not to react, but when he bit down just a little too hard, she jumped.

“I’m very competitive,” she said sourly.

He kissed her other breast, gentler this time.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“A consolation prize. Lucky me.”

“Is there something else you want?” He was at her hip bone, kneeling beside the bed, between her thighs.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He kissed the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, and then the other. When he touched her with his tongue she jumped and squealed. It was an entirely new sensation. Not remotely like fingers or the clothed ridge of an erection. This was the tongue of his angelic form; smooth, hot, wet and altering in an instant between soft and stiff. When it pressed against her clit and fluttered she surprised herself by coming again in a quick jolt. Her gasps of pleasure quickly turned to whimpers. His tongue was softer than her fingers, and she was incredibly wet, but when he finally sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard she was so overstimulated it was painful.

He broke from her just long enough to say it again; his mantra of the day.

"What do you want?"

He didn't even wait for her to speak before his mouth was on her again.

She saw her chance through the orgasmic haze. A loud moan stretched to the end of her breath and then she spoke as she came, head tossed back, body rigid.

"Punish Lilith," she cried.


End file.
